Two movie-to-stage adaptations have different results

David A. Rosenberg

Published
7:00 pm EST, Saturday, February 2, 2008

Here's the dilemma. Should a stage adaptation of a film try to duplicate the original or should it be theatricalized and molded into a new shape? Following and expanding the former path, Disney's "The Little Mermaid" drowns. Taking the latter choice, Hitchcock's "The 39 Steps" emerges sound and sure.

"39 Steps" spoofs the 1935 film thriller by slyly admitting there's no way the stage can hope to duplicate the infinite number of locations -- trains, bridges, countryside -- that movies do so well. Nor can it employ a cast of thousands or even tens, with extras running hither and yon.

So why fight it? Why not be as imaginative as possible? In this version, four -- count 'em -- actors meld into dozens of roles. Although the evening is a trifle, perhaps more suited to off-Broadway than on, it's a highly amusing trifle, with even a signature cameo of Hitchcock himself gleefully thrown in as well as giddy references to other of the master's films like "Lady Vanishes," "Psycho," "Man Who Knew Too Much" and "Rear Window."

Adaptor Patrick Barlow keeps the main setups of Charles Bennett's original screenplay (based on John Buchan's novel). This is the story of Richard Hannay, one of Hitchcock's typical heroes caught in a life-threatening jam. As an innocent bystander, he finds himself protecting a strange woman who insinuates herself into his life, gives him a secret Scots name to pursue in the name of national security and is subsequently stabbed in the back. Naturally, Hannay is the chief suspect.

With the police on his trail, Hannay takes the train to Scotland, on the way meeting a beautiful blonde to whom he later finds himself handcuffed. Forced to spend the night together, they become embroiled in one of Hitchcock's trademark suggestive sexual encounters, with the emphasis on suggestion.

But the plot is mere excuse for an espionage caper. Indeed, one extended scene, an interview between hero and villain, is so plot-heavy that it threatens to halt the evening. But, then, there's the marvelous mountainside chase, here amusingly accomplished by using shadow puppets behind a scrim. The scene is both imaginative and an "anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better" thumbing of the nose at budgetary constraints.

As buttoned-up, pipe-smoking, perfectly groomed bachelor Hannay, Charles Edwards is as droll and dry as a James Bond martini. Jennifer Ferrin is a hoot as both the Dietrich-accented spy and the virginal woman who is repelled by, then attracted to our hero.

But it's the incredible Arnie Burton and Cliff Saunders as everyone else who invigorate the evening. Under Maria Aitken's split-second direction, they recall the physical humor of Laurel and Hardy as they change hats, coats, mustaches and genders in a wink.

They also project the kind of wiliness that "The Little Mermaid" could use to shed the torpor that pervades this over-blown charade. Although it picks up mightily in the second, act -- when the characters find their land-lubber feet as well as their humanity -- the show can't rise above the first act's water-logged leadenness.

Until then, this is less a cartoon come to life than a garish set of plastic toys. Everything is pushed too hard, from the eye-afflicting colors that splash sets and costumes to the too-busy production numbers where even the catching "Under the Sea" is blasted to smithereens.

Yet, the Alan Mencken-Howard Ashman-Glenn Slater score is infectious. In addition to "Under the Sea," sticking in the mind are "Part of Your World," "Positoovity," "Poor Unfortunate Souls," "One Step Closer," "She's in Love" and the ambitious quartet "If Only."

Surely you remember the story: singing mermaid saves drowning prince, falls in love, wants to be human against father's wish, loses voice and tail, gets legs and boy, lives happily ever after, blessed by dad. As adapted from the screen and the original Hans Christian Anderson story by Doug Wright, this is also an appealing fable of maturity.

The second act manages touching moments between Ariel, the beautiful mermaid, and Eric, the handsome prince. As Sierra Boggess and Sean Palmer play these roles, feelings of true romance transcend the vulgar scenery and Francesca Zambello's pageant-like direction.

There are other pleasures, such as a chorus of all shapes, sizes and ethnicities gliding about the stage on Heelys to mimic swimming. As Ursula the witch, Sherie Renee Scott, though hampered by her awkward costume, makes for a lively villainess. John Treacy Egan has a tasty bit as a daffy chef and the hard-working cast is first-rate all around.

But a sign of the evening's bloat is its tacking on an hour to the film's 83-minute running time. At least "39 Steps" is roughly the same length on stage as on celluloid. "Mermaid," unlike "39 Steps," is a case where making too much of a good thing is just too much.